


Among the Redwoods

by YIMA



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: 2020 US Presidential Election, Alternate Universe - Politics, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Love Between Women, Nature, Power Dynamics, Romance, Secret Relationship, Sex, Smut, f/f - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 15:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIMA/pseuds/YIMA
Summary: Filled with turmoil as to whether or not she should run for president again, Hillary contacts the one person who can help her make the decision.





	1. Chapter 1

She lay in bed on her side, staring into the darkness—or almost darkness. The moonlight was shining through the crack in the shades which let her make out the dresser and the lamp and Bill’s shoes haphazardly thrown just outside the closet. She’d had insomnia for weeks even though she tried to convince herself that it’d only been days. She did sleep well on Tuesday, which she was thankful for, so she decided to start her countdown all over again. It was now Sunday according to the clock, a fresh week to keep thinking, which she never stopped doing. It only got more difficult as the time passed.

“Closer,” Bill whispered, wrapping his hand around her waist and pulling her gently to his belly. He did this often, but Hillary didn’t know how often until her bouts of insomnia began. By her count, Bill whispered to her several times each night. Besides “closer” he would say “baby” and “mmm.” Her favorite, though she’d never tell him, was “need.” It would always precede his hand resting on her braless breast, cupping her nipple between his index and middle. And it would stay there all night, his lips pursed in the suckling form. She didn’t know why that made her feel special, but she was more than happy to let his hand rest there.

“Bill?” she whispered back, his chin to her crown. “Honey?”

“Hmm?” he mumbled, still asleep, peaceful and without worry. She could feel his steady heartbeat through her back, and it calmed her.

“I think I’m gonna do it.”

He wasn’t listening which made her feel free to continue.

“It’d be crazy for me not to,” she whispered. “Have you seen the field? I love Kamala, but—”

He pulled her even closer, hand pressed to her belly button, legs intertwined with hers.

“I’m scared,” she said just above a whisper, so softly that she could barely hear herself. And she was happy for that. Scared? It was an emotion she couldn’t handle, the very thing the aura of her persona never had. She was to be fearless. Formidable. Unshakable. And yet, at 1:32 on Sunday morning, she lay next to her husband, finally telling him the painful truth. It made her sick.

***

“Eggs?” Bill asked the next morning, cracking them before she could answer. He held to the bowl and whisked like a pro. “I miss eggs,” he mumbled to himself, setting the bowl down and turning on the stove. Hillary watched him from the kitchen table, wide-eyed as she drank her coffee. She wondered if he’d heard anything she said the night before, so she asked—

“Do you remember what happened last night?”

Bill looked up. “Last night?”

She nodded.

Bill grinned. “You mean when Paul Manafort rested his head on a straw pillow in prison?”

She couldn’t help but grin. “And his sheets?”

Bill poured the eggs, the sizzle filling the space. “No sheets,” he said, moving the eggs with a spatula. “No sheets for traitors.”

She took another sip, agreeing.

“Hot sauce?” he asked.

“I’ll do it.”

He grabbed the dry toast and placed it on her plate along with the soft scrambled eggs. He set the plate in front of her and kissed her forehead. “What happened last night, baby?”

She sighed as she grabbed her fork. Then she grabbed the hot sauce and opened the cap. “I uhm.” She couldn’t say it. Even the thought of saying it made her anxious. “You grab my titty at night, Bill.” She grinned as she shook hot sauce on her eggs. “And you hold it between your fingers.”

He grinned, taking a sip of his coffee. “Sounds like me.” He rested his hand to her thigh, knowing that wasn’t what she wanted to say, but waiting, as he always did, for her to find the words.

“I can’t,” she continued, still searching. She shook her head. “It would be crazy. Absolutely insane, particularly considering how the political climate is right now. And who am I to stand in the way of a new generation of—?” But then she shook her head again, because those weren’t her thoughts. She didn’t care about a new generation. She had no problem with beating every single candidate to the win. Her concern—at least the one she was willing to admit—was getting the country back into steady hands. So she took a bite and tore off a piece of the toast and set it right on top of the eggs which made no sense to Bill, but he knew he still needed to stay silent. “But,” she continued, “it would be my last shot. It’s my last shot.” She set the fork down. “I just don’t know if— I can’t go through another—” She grinned, trying to hide even though she didn’t have to hide with him.

He looked down, still waiting, thinking of what he would say. He absolutely wanted to her to run. It wasn’t a question for him. He always knew she was meant to be president, and he wasn’t convinced that it was her last chance. To him, she was so full of life—invincible even—that time bowed at her feet.

She focused on her plate, hand rested atop his. “What do you think?”

“I think you should do it.”

She closed her eyes.

“You’re the best candidate there is, Hill.”

“But I’m _not_ a candidate.”

“You tell that to everyone on Twitter and Fox News and every major U.S. paper, and—”

“Bernie Sanders.”

Bill nodded. “You got 66 million votes.”

“In _2016_ , Bill. Things have changed since 2016.” She felt herself getting hot, not because of Bill, but because she still wanted to tell him how scared she was. She couldn’t. “They will come back bigger and stronger.”

“You don’t know that, Hillary.”

“I know how Active Measures work.”

“But you aren’t God,” he said, resolute. “Tell me,” he continued, wiping his mouth because he was ready for this debate. “Did Roy Moore win the senate seat?”

“That’s completely different, Bill.”

“He was a Russia-backed candidate. The asshole even had an endorsement from the traitor in the White House.”

“But Doug Jones—”

“Won,” Bill interjected. “In Alabama, no less.” He sat back and placed his napkin down. “We won the midterms by a margin that hasn’t been seen since _before_ Watergate. There are more women in Congress now because of you, Hill. That’s all you.”

She wanted to believe it, and logically it had backing, but that didn’t dissolve her fear. “I’m scared,” she finally said, big blue eyes boring into his. “I’m terrified.” She sucked in a breath, stood, and headed to the—

“Wait,” he cooed, grabbing her hand before she walked off. He stood and held her so close that she could’ve melted into him. “It’s okay to be afraid,” he whispered. “It shows that you’re alive.”

She buried her face in his chest, never wanting to pull away. “They said I was dying.”

“But that was in 2016, darlin’.”

“What’ll stop them from saying that this time?”

Bill grinned. “A resurrection.”

***

Her new plan was to stop thinking about it. She was going to sit on the couch and watch Netflix and play with her dogs and eat chocolate. And for about six hours, she enjoyed that plan until the sun went down and her thoughts suddenly felt like a companion in the room. She turned the TV off, rested her elbows to her knees, and said, “Shit.” The furniture didn’t flinch. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Shit,” she said again, defeated.

Bill had witnessed this at various times throughout their marriage. Hillary wasn’t one to talk about feelings. She festered in them alone, blocking out anyone who was willing to sit in them with her. After the election, he watched as the woman he loved drowned herself in Chardonnay and cleaned every closet. He was thankful that she still had an appetite. Years ago he saw her nearly waste away from a similar stress.

But he didn’t want to say it. And he knew it was selfish for him not to say it. They’d come to an agreement in 2001. It was the gift of his mea culpa. An open door. He never stipulated a time limit. In the back of his mind, he didn’t think she’d ever use it. But then she did.

“You okay?” he asked, watching her stare at the blank screen.

She nodded and coughed a bit.

“Done with _House of Cards_?”

“Mmhmm…and _Madam Secretary_ and the last season of _Downton Abbey_.”

He leaned against the doorframe. “Wanna talk?”

She shook her head.

He walked toward her and sat next to her before grabbing her hand. The silence felt eerily similar to the day after the election. Everyone thought that Bill Clinton could never shut up, but he could with her.

She appreciated his touch and moved her other hand to his wrist. It slowly moved up his arm and back down again, giving him the invitation to continue. So he moved closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, his lips to her crown. She rested her head to the crook of his neck, moving it back and forth while kissing his skin. He moved his hand up her shirt, higher and higher until he reached her breast. He prided himself on knowing how to remove a bra a hundred different ways, and he tried his most famous maneuver. The garment suddenly lay next to the coffee table, smelling of her skin.

***

That night, they lay awake, still silent. He wanted to bring it up, but he could find the—

“Billy, are you up?”

He nodded into her hair.

She rolled over to face him. Her mouth moved, but the words wouldn’t come out. Thing is, he knew what they were.

“You wanna see her,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes, because although they had an agreement, the guilt of wanting was there. She couldn’t shake it. By the time she finished watching _House of Cards_ , she understood why she couldn’t sleep. She refused to call it a need, but seeing her _was_ a need. Her touch was an antioxidant, balancing the endless drama surrounding her very public life. Her skin was silky on the tongue, and her taste was intoxicating.

Hillary figured she should look Bill in the eye before she answered. She could see the pain right behind his pupils—that look of a little boy knowing that he couldn’t be all to the one he loved. He rested his hand on her hip, his wrist shaky. “Yes,” she simply said.

He nodded, moving his hand from her hip up to her cheek. “Alright.”

She closed her eyes.

“It’s alright, Hilly.”

God, how she wanted it to be.

“Honesty, remember?”

She nodded, eyes still closed as he kissed her forehead.

“It’s been a long while,” he continued. “And I’m sure that’s why you can’t sleep.”

He knew her so well—too well. “She’s been busy, Bill.”

“We all have.”

“But I mean, busy-busy. And it’s been years.” Nearly eight, unless she counted their encounters after the election. She didn’t.

“Call her in the morning,” he said. The air felt like a vacuum. Everything in the room was still. He couldn’t move a muscle—not even his own heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Days had passed, and Hillary had gone from Alabama to New York to Norway, and she still hadn’t made the call. When she finally came back home, she and Bill rested in each other, above and below the sheets, legs and lips vying for more touch, breaths dancing in the air like lovers. They made love in silence, her hands to his back, his hands planted beside her shoulders. He’d pause mid-stroke and change position, moving slowly as she opened wider, wanting to feel the fullness of his weight upon her. She squeezed her eyes closed, feeling every inch, his virility and lust, his love and desperation.

She wanted the idea to leave her head. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t see her again—that the last time was the last. But as he made tiny circles inside of her, she thought back to the weekend in the cabin where she wore nothing but a silk slip. She watched her stare at the redwoods, a cup of tea and a book by her side. Natural light flooded the wooden room, and Hillary’s heart was so palpable that she remembered joy.

“I’m gonna…” Bill drawled, slowing down because Hillary didn’t seem close, and he wanted her to come first. He needed her to.

“Switch with me,” she breathlessly said, and staying connected, she straddled him while he lay on his back. He loved that position, seeing her breasts sway above him like pendulums. At first she remained still, wanting them both to adjust to the feeling. But then she slowly slid up, nearly losing their connection before sliding back down. She did all of this deliberately, eyes closed as her hands rested on his chest. But she needed more. She needed her.

“Tell me about her,” he whispered, staring at his wife’s face.

Hillary winced, not wanting to go there but needing to. She shook her head, moving her body up and down.

“Hill…” he whispered, “tell me.”

“I…can’t.”

“You can,” he said, seeing the tears at the bridge of her nose. “She’d kiss you.”

Hillary nodded, holding to his shoulders.

“Like this,” he said, reaching up and kissing her lips gently. It was similar, but her kisses were softer. “Like that?”

Hillary nodded again, the tears on her lips.

“Then imagine her,” he whispered, teary himself. “Pretend I’m her.”

“Billy,” she whispered, because she felt like that would cross a line, and she wanted the woman out of her head. “I love you.”

“But you need her,” he said, resting his hands on her hips. “And that’s okay.”

“Bill,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s…it’s just…”

And suddenly, her mind was in the cabin, watching the woman come inside from the porch. Her lipstick was a deep red which looked perfect on her sun kissed skin. She set her teacup down and stood in front of Hillary, moving her hand along Hillary’s jawline. “You’re beautiful,” the woman said, her tiny voice the opposite of Bill’s. Hillary leaned into her hand, feeling a combination of excitement and calm. She wanted more, and the woman was willing to give her more. They found themselves on the floor near the unlit fireplace, hands grabbing soft flesh, tender skin meeting tender places. Hillary kissed the woman’s breasts, sending a shiver down her spine. The woman ran her tongue down Hillary’s belly before burying her face between her thighs. Was it better? There was no comparison. They say its apples and oranges, but to Hillary it was like comparing steak to peaches. One was classic, hearty, and lovely while the other gave memories of spring and life—juices running down the chin, sweetness on the lips.

With her final move, Hillary cried with a sound of longing, coming both in body and soul. Bill followed right after, crying too, but from his heart. She rested her body upon his, her head on his shoulder. And their tears merged on his skin, the salty drops becoming a tiny puddle begging to be affirmed.

They didn’t address it.

***

“Oh my God,” Hillary said, throwing the remote to the opposite chair as she watched the news. Bernie Sanders was reviving the old “Hillary cheated” trope during this new run. She would’ve been steeped in anger if his harassment weren’t so tragic. “Ridiculous,” she scoffed.

“Completely,” Huma said, handing Hillary the mail.

Hillary shook her head. “It’s like he still thinks it’s 2016.”

“Because he does,” Huma said, staring at the screen.

Hillary held her gaze as Huma turned to her. The younger woman didn’t speak, but Hillary already knew what she wanted to say. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She didn’t want to discuss it.

“Do you think you’ll lose? If you think you’ll lose, you’re crazy. No one has the infrastructure that you do.”

“Huma…”

“…let alone the constituents. Even if you backed a candidate, they wouldn’t be able to get the turnout that you would.”

Hillary set the mail down and turned to Huma. “Should I go with my usual speech, or should I make up a new one? Let’s revisit Dave Letterman in 2003, shall we?”

“Hillary…”

“I have no plans to run for president.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean to—”

“Or let’s go with what I told Cynthia McFadden in 2013. I’m going to be focusing on my philanthropy, my charities, writing, and speaking. I am looking forward to having a normal life again.”

“Hillary—”

“Of course, I’m flattered and honored,” she continued, remembering what she said all those years ago. “I don’t know how else to say it, but I am going to get back into my life again.”

“You’re the best person for the job,” Huma said, exasperated. “This isn’t a game.”

Hillary couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“If you don’t run, then you’re giving up, and you don’t give up.”

“Huma…”

Huma pressed her lips together. She wanted Hillary to run as much as Bill did, maybe more.

“Chelsea’s pregnant.”

Huma nodded, knowing this speech too.

“Charlotte and Aiden are growing up so fast. Bill doesn’t do well when I’m not near him.”

Huma remained silent.

“Putin’ll do it again. No question about it.” She took a breath. “It’s important that a Democrat gets into the White House, and it doesn’t matter which Democrat. If I enter the race, then I’m…” She couldn’t say it, because she didn’t believe that she would be setting the country up for failure. Quite the opposite. So she sat back, staring at the commercials while her mind raced with what could happen if she tried again.

Exasperated, Huma stood. “Just know that—” But she didn’t finish her sentence, because Hillary had no intention of listening to logical reasons to run. Huma left the room, and Hillary flipped through the mail, spotting a small, handwritten note.

“ _They have two weeks available. Call Terri._

 _Love, Bill_.”

 

She crumbled up the paper and held it in her hand like a rock.


	3. Chapter 3

Nancy Pelosi sat at her desk, unbothered. The media had run with the idea that her caucus was in disarray, but instead of countering the news cycle, she decided to do her job. Terri McCullough, her new Chief of Staff, understood the dysfunction of politics even though she’d spent the last few years in the non-profit sector. She sat across from Nancy with a clipboard in hand. They liked to do things the old-fashioned way.

“…and you got a call from Secretary Clinton.”

Nancy looked up, but then she looked back down, hoping her face hadn’t changed. “Oh?”

“She wants to know if you’re available for…” Terri furrowed her brow. “A consultation.”

“Dates,” Nancy said, stone-faced as she stared at Terri’s clipboard. Her mind was racing with possibility. She figured Hillary had been going through a tough time, but she knew not to call. Hillary needed to make her own decisions, and reaching out would only push her further away. “Terri?”

“I’m looking…” the woman mumbled, scrolling through her calendar. “I don’t see any openings.”

“What’s the least important thing?” Nancy asked.

“You have a meeting with Melania on the 15th and a lunch with McConnell on the 16th.”

“Cancel them,” Nancy said, looking back to her paperwork. “And block out everything until the 18th. I need to be in California.”

Terri nodded, making the note.

***

Hillary sat in her New York office, going over Onward Together paperwork. She’d spent the morning on group calls, letting donors know how the organization used their money and giving reasons why she should be entrusted with more. It took a great deal of sway, but she was always up for the challenge. But then Nick Merrill walked in as Hillary got off the phone.

“Nancy Pelosi’s on the line.”

Hillary sat stone-faced, heart racing so fast that she gently held to the table. “Transfer her please.”

“On it.”

Nick left the room, and Hillary picked up the ringing phone, nervously playing with her locket. “Petunia?”

It took a while before— “Steady,” Nancy cooed, wrapping the phone cord around her finger. She felt like she was floating. “Terri told me you called, so… I was headed to lunch in the cafeteria, but then she told me you called, and I decided to call you.” She paused. “How are you?”

Hillary took a staggered breath, the inhale shaky and the exhale labored. “I miss you.”

Nancy closed her eyes, a small smile on her lips.

“I’ve been thinking about… I’ve been considering…”

“Running.” Nancy said. She wanted her to run too.

“Yes.”

“And you think that you shouldn’t,” Nancy continued. “That this would be one time too many.”

Hillary nodded.

“…and no amount of logic can change how you feel about running because you’re afraid to.”

Hillary closed her eyes, the silence between them lasting for seconds and neither of them feeling compelled to fill the space. “I need you.”

Nancy exhaled. She needed Hillary too. She loved her husband, Paul, and she always would, but Hillary was a relief from the insanity of Washington while intimately understanding the insanity. “I had Terri book Westgate,” Nancy said, falling for Hillary all over again. “The 15th through the 17th.

Hillary remained silent.

“I didn’t know if you were free, but those are the only days I can—”

“I’ll be there,” Hillary said, feeling warm inside.

***

That night, Bill and Hillary cuddled on the couch while reading books. Hillary was knee deep in _Cemetery Road_ while Bill read _The Impossible Climb_. He set the book down and held her foot, rubbing the arch with his thumbs.

“That feels nice,” she whispered, turning the page.

He nodded, wanting to know her plans but unsure if he should ask.

She set her book down and said, “We’re staying from the 15th through the 17th.”

Bill continued his ministrations, silent.

“I got your note.”

He nodded, unable to hide his jealousy. He knew she needed Nancy, but he hated that she did. It was something he’d known since they’d married—that he’d never be enough for her. And he ignored that because for years, she wasn’t enough for him. The difference was that his need was born from abuse and neglect. Hers was from the heart.

“Bill?”

He looked at her.

“Are you…? If you’re not okay with this, just tell me, and I’ll cancel.”

“I didn’t say that, Hillary.”

“You’re upset.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why aren’t you saying anything?”

“ _…because I fucking hate this!_ ” he screamed in his head, rubbing her feet so tenderly that he couldn’t shout it. He would’ve rended his garments if he could’ve. Flipped the couch. Smashed the TV. But he encouraged her to see Nancy, proving to himself that he was an idiot. “I want you to be happy,” he finally said, which was true.

She rested her hand to his arm. “I won’t go.”

“I didn’t say not to go, Hillary.”

“It’s not worth you being upset about this,” she said, moving her legs to the ground. “We’re in a good place, and I don’t wanna jeopardize—”

“You wouldn’t be jeopardizing anything. You need to see her, and I’m fine with that.”

He wasn’t.

“I have some foundation work to get done this weekend anyway. There’s no use in you cancelling the trip to please me. I won’t be here anyway.”

She stared at the floor before looking at him. “Then why is your face red, Bill?”

He looked away.

“You can tell me,” she said, her voice small. “I know you hate this.”

“I never said that, Hillary.”

“And I can’t blame you.” She sat back, memories flooding her mind. “I hated it too.”

“That was different, Hill.”

“But I came to the conclusion that you needed them. It was hard, but I accepted that.”

“That was _not_ the same thing,” he said, getting angry. “I…I had issues, and I worked through those issues, and none of that was your fault or my need or anything like that.” He sat up, fist clenched. “If you can’t see the difference, then you’re crazy.”

Hillary chuckled, not from humor but from her— “Honesty. That’s what we agreed to, right?”

Bill closed his eyes.

“Right?”

He nodded.

“I’m being honest, Bill,” she said, voice shaky. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t ashamed of having attractions to women, but she couldn’t get pass the need for Nancy.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Then go,” he whispered, kissing her over and over again, each peck a plea for him to be enough, for her to change her mind. “I love you.”

She loved him too, more than she could say. So she nuzzled to his neck, taking in his scent and hoping that going to Westgate wouldn’t make her feel otherwise.


	4. Chapter 4

They had agreed that Hillary would arrive first. That way, the agents could sweep the house, cordon off the road, and prevent any connections between her and Nancy from being picked up in the media. Hillary opened the front door with Huma by her side. They never spoke of Westgate or what went on there, but Huma had an idea. No proof, just a feeling.

“I packed an extra charger,” the younger woman said, watching as Hillary stood in front of the large window, head bent back as she stared at the redwoods. She seemed entranced, and Huma hesitated to continue.

“Thank you,” Hillary finally said, her chest flush as she glanced at the unassuming fireplace, remembering Nancy’s skin and Nancy’s taste and craving both beyond what words could express. “Huma?”

Huma locked eyes with the woman.

“Can you let Bill know that I’m here?” She sighed. “And that I’m safe.”

Huma nodded and left the cabin.

***

Alone that afternoon, Hillary drew herself a bath and sank into the water’s depths. She could hear birds chirping in the forest and the rustling of the high leaves. She closed her eyes to take in the sounds before looking at her body under the water. The subtle waves made it look like she was moving, and she touched her breast, watching as her nipple grew between her fingers. She moved her hand down her torso, grazing her small paunch before meeting her center. With age came hair loss, and the vulnerability made her feel small. She touched her mound with two fingers, pressing and pressing before moving them to her slit and feeling her bud grow with anticipation. She leaned back, the nape of her neck drenched in the warm water, and she made love to herself while the liquid sloshed around her, its xylophonic sound echoing off the tiles. Her breathing picked up, and she moaned as her fingers sank into her lips. She didn’t want the moment to go so fast, but she couldn’t slow down. She moved faster, feeling her walls clench around her digits, her muscles squeezing, her knees touching from the forced friction. And suddenly, she heard that familiar and much welcomed exhalation.

“Keep going,” Nancy said, staring down at Hillary. She’d hadn’t seen such a beautiful sight in years.

Hillary inhaled audibly.

“It’s the least you could do since you’ve started without me,” Nancy said playfully. She set her purse on the covered commode and got on her knees. “God, you look lovely,” Nancy whispered, moving Hillary’s bangs to the side. “What a wonderful welcome.”

“I’m so close,” Hillary whispered.

“I see,” Nancy said, caressing the woman’s cheek, “but it looks like you could use some help.”

Hillary nodded desperately, having wanted this for so long. Nancy tenderly kissed her lips, her small hand delving into the water and meeting Hillary’s breast. She flicked her nipple, and Hillary felt the jolt go straight to her center.

“But there’s more,” Nancy said, her hand meeting with Hillary’s. She moved Hillary’s fingers to her clit. “You go there, and I’ll go inside,” she said, entering the Secretary’s depths and remembering how warm and ribbed and pulsating she felt. Hillary could’ve died from the pleasure.

“I’m…”

Nancy kissed Hillary’s lips again, sending her into a tailspin.

“I’m…I’m… _coming_ ,” she cried, writhing in the water, Nancy’s tongue dancing along her neck, her fingers twisting and turning in the small cave of her lover.

Under the backdrop of the redwoods and the chirps and the sound of the Pacific, it was one of the sexiest moments either of them had ever experienced.

_December 2004_

She sat in the far chair watching Bill breathe. She’d done that since he left the hospital, and every time she was in New York, she’d do the same. Maybe it was the fear of him dying? Maybe it was the fear of her becoming alive.

“I’m fine,” he said, looking up from his book. “You don’t have to worry. I’m following the doctor’s orders.”

She nodded, unable to look away.

“Hill,” he said, exasperated.

“Alright,” she said, leaving the room.

Back in DC, she continued as a Senator and ate lunch at the same table in the cafeteria. She accepted the well-wishes of others, and she buried herself in her work. It was hard. She saw Bill as invincible, and that she couldn’t be with him during his recovery was taking a toll.

“He’ll be okay,” Nancy said, suddenly sitting across from Hillary. She wasn’t invited, but she sat as though the table were hers.

“How do you know that?” Hillary asked, watching the small woman grab the pepper and shake it on her salad.

Nancy pointed to her own chest, her finger pressed to the exposed skin. Hillary stared at it, she thought, for too long. “The question is, how are _you_ , Hillary?”

She moved her gaze. “I’m fine.”

Nancy nodded. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Nancy?”

“You’re lying to my face. If Paul went through what Bill just did, I’d be a wreck.” She coughed, the imagination too much. “A complete wreck.”

“And what would that solve?” Hillary asked, keeping her tone low. “I sulk, and the people of New York have a useless Senator?”

“So what do you do for yourself?” Nancy asked, seeing right through her. “Do you take walks?”

“Of course.”

“See your friends?”

“Yes, Nancy…”

“Do you fuck?”

Hillary paused, stunned.

“Hillary?”

“ _What_?”

“Do you have sex, or do you just sit around thinking about Bill dying? It’s been four months already. You’re at your sexual peak, and you deserve to be fulfilled.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Nancy, I don’t know what you—”

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be touched,” Nancy whispered, staring into Hillary’s eyes. “Particularly by someone who understands what you need.” She pressed her hand to her bare chest.

Hillary wanted to tell the woman she was straight, but so was Nancy. She wanted to say she was married, but then again, so was Nancy. Hillary had nothing to say but the truth. “Everything would go to shit, Nancy.”

“You assume.”

“I know.”

“It didn’t in ‘98, and it wouldn’t now.”

“This is crazy,” Hillary said, setting her sandwich down and pushing it away. She felt exposed. Naked. “Did someone put you up to this?”

“Like who?”

“A Republican? Kenneth Starr? I don’t know, but this—this is—”

“Why is it so hard to understand what I’m saying?” Nancy whispered, staring into Hillary’s eyes. “Am I not being clear?”

So Hillary relented, seeing that the woman was serious. She smiled from the audacity, her black pantsuit suddenly too hot. And for a while, she said nothing. Neither did Nancy. The women sat silently in that very public space, tall white men surrounding them, the sound of dishes and forks and talk filling the air. “I haven’t been with…” Hillary furrowed her brow. “Not since college, and that was just because… It was…”

“Hillary…”

“…and then I met Bill and fell in love with him, and that part of my life was over.”

Nancy looked down, heart racing. “So only he can do what he wants?”

Hillary closed her eyes.

“ _This_ one and _that_ one and _this_ one…and then that intern and whoever else. And you just have to deny yourself?”

“That’s not...”

“Tell the truth.”

“I don’t,” Hillary said, tearing up. “Bill and I have an agreement. I…I have permission, but that wouldn’t make it right for me to—”

“To be you.” Nancy set her napkin down, choked up herself. “To be you,” she repeated, grabbing her tray and walking off.

***

Hillary was breathless as Nancy tended to her naked body.

“Hi Steady,” Nancy cooed, kissing the woman’s lips and her hair and her chest and wishing she would get out of the tub so she could gaze at her body as it glistened in the natural light.

“Petunia,” Hillary cooed, resting her hand on the older woman’s cheek, impressed by how beautiful she was and how small and powerful and amazing and—

“Let’s get you out of this water.”

Hillary grinned. “Wanna see all of me, huh?”

“Every little nook,” Nancy said, rising to her feet and helping Hillary do the same. “I don’t want the fun to end here, darling.”

“It won’t,” Hillary said, grinning hard. She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t help anything. She was helpless.


	5. Chapter 5

As Hillary unzipped her suitcase, she skipped over every garment but the silk gown she always wore at Westgate. She remembered when Nancy gave it to her, the gift box lined with the most beautiful velvet.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you in it,” Nancy said, hoping Hillary would like it. She wasn’t sure she would. After all, it was their first time at the cabin, and Hillary was already a nervous wreck.

Hillary picked the gown up, saying nothing.

“You don’t like it.”

“Nancy...”

“It’s okay,” Nancy said, uncertain of Hillary’s taste. “I should’ve asked first.”

“…I love it,” Hillary said, so touched by the gesture. Bill had bought her gowns many times before, but Nancy’s attention to detail couldn’t be denied. The color was the exact hue of Hillary’s eyes. It was the perfect length in addition to being her size. “How did you know I’m an 8?”

“Lucky guess,” Nancy said, smitten. “But if you don’t—”

Hillary covered the woman’s lips with her index finger. “Wait here while I put it on.”

Like all those years ago, Nancy sat on the mattress while Hillary dressed herself in the closet. She couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen the woman in the gown many times before, but the anticipation of presentation never waned.

When Hillary emerged, Nancy stood, taken, once again, by the Secretary’s beauty. She could barely speak, so she didn’t.

“Petunia?”

Stunned, Nancy blinked a few times before sitting back on the bed. “ _How_ did I get so lucky to have you?” she finally whispered. “I’m just…waiting for the anvil to drop, you see. For the sky to crack open and whisk me away.”

Hillary sat next to her, and they held hands. Without saying a word, Hillary kissed the woman’s cheek before moving her lips to Nancy’s. “There is no anvil,” the Secretary whispered. “Just me.”

Nancy closed her eyes in effort to hide her vulnerability. “Food,” she suddenly said, needing to feel in control again. “Let me make you something to eat,” she said, standing and leading Hillary to the kitchen.

_2001_

They left the therapist’s office through the back door, neither of them saying a word. Outside of his childhood issues taking the forefront, Bill thought it necessary to bring up Hillary’s time at Wellesley. She couldn’t look at him.

“I had to say it,” he said, sitting in the back of the SUV. “Honesty.”

She wasn’t going to say anything before she blurted out, “ _Who’s_ honesty? You didn’t even know me when I was at Wellesley, and you brought that up like it was yours to say!”

“It was relevant!”

“To what? We’re here because _you_ can’t stop fucking every piece of ass that walks past you!”

He clenched his fist and held it to his mouth.

“And then you bring up…you brought up…!”

“Who the fuck are you kidding, Hillary! You _know_ you’ve considered it. Hell, I saw you with Sara back in the Governor’s—!”

“You did _not_!” she screamed, shaking. “You saw what your sick mind wanted you to see!”

“I saw you kissing her the same fucking way you kiss me, Hillary! I saw her hand on your ass and you not nudging it the fuck away!”

“You saw nothing!” she screamed so loudly that the agents backed away from the vehicle, realizing that the couple needed the space. “ _Fuck you,_ Bill! Fuck you!”

He kept quiet that time. She didn’t usually curse so forcefully, and he didn’t want to make her angrier. She cried with her head leaning against the window, the revelation too great to bear. When Bill heard her suck in a staggered breath, unable to compose herself, he scooted closer and wrapped his arm around her. “Hilly...”

She didn’t push him away. She just sat there angry and broken. That was the final straw, she believed. He broke her.

“Maybe you should do it,” he said later that night. She still wasn’t talking to him. “I’ve been horrible, Hillary. A fucking terror, and you didn’t deserve any of the shit I put you through.”

She kept silent, lifting the covers and getting under them.

“What happened when I was growing up didn’t give me permission to do what I did, and I won’t accept that it ever did.” He looked at her, wishing she’d respond. “If being with a woman can… If you need that, then you have my permission to do it, Hillary. As long as…” He squeezed his eyes closed. “Honesty.”

Incensed, she got out of bed, opened the drawers, and grabbed her clothes.

“Hill?”

She stormed down the steps, and he followed her.

“Hillary!”

She grabbed the door handle right before he stepped in front of it. “Where’re you going!”

“ _Back_ to Whitehaven!”

“Can’t you face the fact that you need this!” he screamed. “Why won’t you admit it!”

***

Hillary sat on the stool, watching Nancy wash her hands in the sink. Whenever she cooked, she’d be in a zone, and Hillary was more than happy to watch her work.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Nancy said.

“I had Nick buy ice cream,” Hillary cooed, unable to stop smiling. “Double Rainbow and Three Twins.”

Nancy grinned, glancing at the boiling pasta. “My favorites.”

Hillary pressed her lips together, her silk gown accentuating her pronounced curves.

“I’m making you car— _carbonara_ ,” Nancy said with an exaggerated Italian accent. “Then we can eat that ice cream together.”

Hillary chuckled, smitten. “You sound like Bill.”

“Now _that’s_ a complement.”

“No, I mean you’re playful like him.”

“Don’t let the Republicans know.”

“God…”

Nancy turned the stove to low and dipped a spoon in the cream sauce. “Taste,” she said, bringing it to Hillary’s lips.

“Mmm...”

Nancy watched the Secretary savor the cream, and she was overcome with thoughts of Hillary’s mouth on her, the soft flesh merging with her own, lips seen by billions tending to her place of secrecy. She was flush. “Kiss me,” Nancy said.

Hillary lifted up and kissed Nancy.

“Again.”

She kissed her again, the seasoned cream faintly on her lips. Nancy rested her hand to Hillary’s cheek, running her nose along Hillary’s skin. She wanted her. She felt that saturation—the warmth of blossoming and carelessness. She could hear the water boiling, but it didn’t matter as long as she was lost in Hillary’s pores, taken by her softness and the promise that she could taste her most intimate place, yet again, as the redwoods witnessed the act.

“Dinner can wait,” Nancy whispered.

***

Naked, they started slowly, sitting desperately close on the plush quilt splayed on the hardwood. They held each other’s cheeks, and the moment felt timeless in a world where both women were expected to be leaders of men. They were just two women sitting in the sunline, bare skin showing their age, uncoifed hair hitting untanned shoulders. Nancy moved her hands down Hillary’s sides, taken by the small of her waist and the dip of her navel. Hillary moved her hand up Nancy’s torso before leaning in to kiss her neck.

Were they powerful? Mightily. Were they vulnerable? Completely. Were they women? The very definition—so feminine and so in love that mother earth longed to applaud their pairing.

_2005_

“I shouldn’t’ve come,” Hillary said, grabbing her purse and heading for the door. Nancy was before her in lace, soft thighs and large breasts on display. Hillary couldn’t handle it. Being at Westgate was jarring. It was too remote. Too quiet. Too perfect.

“Please,” Nancy said. It was more plea than statement. “If we’re moving too fast, then we can slow down. We can take our time.”

Did Hillary want that? Yes, but she felt too vulnerable—naked while fully clothed—seen as through glass. “I’m scared,” she finally said, hands trembling. Her purse suddenly felt like a brick on her shoulder as she fell to her knees, realizing that her worry about Bill was more about losing the story she told herself.

“Let me be afraid with you,” Nancy whispered, getting on her knees too. “Let’s feel it together.”

***

Hillary felt four of Nancy’s fingers—some feathery; some hard. The Speaker had a fantastic memory, Hillary learned, when she pulled her hand away before leaning in to lick Hillary’s blossoming bud. It was crazy and exhilarating and perfect and bad and good and—

“ _Yes…_ ” Hillary whimpered, coming in front of the patio door and reaching for anything to grab ahold of. She found Nancy’s hair, and thankfully for the Speaker, the Secretary’s weakening hand could only grip so much.

***

They stared up at the A-frame ceiling, the natural light resting on their naked bodies. They didn’t need words. Instead they spoke on a soul-level, their hearts saying everything and nothing at all. Hillary held Nancy’s hand, in love with the winkles and pores and the softness. The smallness. Nancy moved her gaze from the ceiling and stared at Hillary’s face, captivated by her full cheeks and plump lips. She never wanted the moment to end.

“How’s Paul?” Hillary asked.

Nancy took a cool breath and squeezed Hillary’s hand. “He’s fine.”

Hillary nodded.

“And Bill?”

“He’s… He’s good. Worried.” Hillary cleared her throat. “But that’s not new.”

Nancy stared at her face, seeing past the words and the silence and the wall that was Hillary Clinton. No matter how liberal her politics, her heart was unchangeably conservative. “Are you having sex?”

Hillary turned to her, the shock of that question never waning. “With Bill?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Nancy,” Hillary said, uncomfortable. She took a breath, rolling over to face her. “Nancy…”

“Well?”

“Yes,” Hillary finally said. “Of course. We’ve— You know we’ve always been consistent.”

“I do.”

“So why are you asking?”

Nancy grinned as she moved closer. “I watched you come,” she said, caressing Hillary’s cheek. “And it seemed like you haven’t—” She stopped herself. “I’m curious.”

Hillary knew what she meant, and if she could’ve seen herself come, she would’ve had the same questions. “I mean, it’s nice. He’s tender,” she said, confessing. “Well, as tender as a man can be. He can’t come unless I do, and that pressure can be too much,” she nearly whispered before inhaling deeply.

The wind rustled between the trees, and the sound filled the room through the cracked, patio door.

“He’s healthy now.”

Hillary nodded.

“Still vegan?”

“Oh yes,” she said, grinning. “Begrudgingly.”

“I’m sure.”

“I think he misses pot roast the most. It’s funny, because I don’t remember him particularly liking pot roast.”

“We all have our longings,” Nancy said.

The sun was blocked by a slight overcast sky, but parts still burst through the stately redwoods.

“I’m going to impeach that monster, Steady. For you.”

Hillary turned to her.

“I know I said he wasn’t worth it, but I can’t have their caucus using that as a talking point. He has to be cut off at the knees.”

“Pet…”

“You’re the president,” Nancy said, resolute. “I stayed so the country could survive, and now it’s time to take your place. I wanna look at you from the House dais.”

Hillary smiled. The thought of Nancy being behind her as she gave the State of the Union made her feel flush. “You think about that?”

“Of course. It would be the best view to have.”

Hillary grinned, loving Nancy’s sly flirtation.

“Let’s talk 2020,” Nancy said, running her fingers through Hillary’s hair.

“Do we have to?” Hillary whined.

“Yes, yes,” Nancy said, sitting up and holding Hillary close. “We’re getting down to the wire.” She rested her chin on Hillary’s crown. “Biden’s running.”

“God,” Hillary said, already exasperated. “I beat him three times.”

“You did.”

“And he never got over Barack encouraging me to run.” She sighed. “Hell, maybe he’ll have better luck this time.”

“That’s a possibility,” Nancy said, “but not if you enter.”

“I’m a firm ‘no’ today, Pet.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“You’re being facetious.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not fickle.”

“That’s why I call you ‘Steady’.”

“I thought you did because I never change my hair,” Hillary said, grinning.

“ _Now_ who’s the playful one?”

The women cuddled closer, enjoying the moment.

“I’ll think about 2020, Petunia. I promise.”

Nancy kissed her forehead, hopes rising.


	6. Chapter 6

Since they’d arrived, neither Hillary nor Nancy had stepped outside. They decided to take a walk amongst the redwoods the next day, longing for fresh air. Their security trailed them from a distance, the Secret Service in their usual suits while Nancy’s Capitol Police were more obvious in uniform. Nancy was unbothered by their presence, but Hillary couldn’t help but worry about the difference in sworn secrecy.

“Do you trust them?” Hillary whispered.

“Oh,” Nancy said, waving them off as she held Hillary’s hand. “You’ve been a murderer since the early 90s, and I’m a ditz who luckily gets reelected by the greatest of margins.”

Hillary grinned.

“What’s a same-sex romance between two of the most evil women on earth?”

Hillary looked to the sky, her shades rested firmly on her nose. “It would be the nicest thing the right could believe about me.”

“And the far left,” Nancy interjected.

“And the far left,” Hillary repeated, stepping over some branches. She chuckled, amazed, moving closer to Nancy, warmed by the woman’s presence until an angry chill went down her spine. “They’d mock what we have, Pet.”

Nancy stopped in her tracks, determined to say her piece. “Listen to me,” she said, holding both of Hillary’s hands. “They don’t matter, Steady. They’re nothing. Hear me?”

Hillary closed her eyes and bowed her head, ashamed that she cared so much.

“We have this,” Nancy continued, leaning in to kiss Hillary’s forehead and Hillary’s cheeks and Hillary’s hands and Hillary’s chest. Right there in front of the agents and the Capitol Police and the trees and the birds and the trail and nothing—absolutely nothing—stopped her from doing it. She pulled away and stared into Hillary’s eyes. “One more mile,” she said, grabbing Hillary’s hand and continuing like nothing happened. “I never get tired of these trails.”

They continued along the path, each feeling particularly small surrounded by the giant trees. They didn’t say anything for a long while until—

“I always wonder what it would’ve been like, Steady.”

Hillary looked at the Speaker, unsure of what she meant. “What what would’ve been like?”

Nancy smiled, letting the statement gain air before saying, “if we’d been together earlier. If,” she said, making sure to watch her footing, “if the laws would’ve been….” Nancy bent down to pick up a sturdy stick and used it as a staff. “We could’ve been mothers together.”

Hillary pressed her lips together. She loved her daughter more than her own life, but the thought of being so free felt joyous. “Nance…”

“Do you think we would’ve been together?” Nancy asked.

Hillary took a deep breath, holding Nancy’s hand with both of hers. “In a perfect world,” Hillary said, thinking it through. “If I’d grown up in Maryland or you in Illinois.”

“But later,” Nancy clarified. “Later when we were young women ready to make a place for ourselves in this world.”

Hillary didn’t want to say it, because the truth, even in fantasy, hurt. Even in the woods, she couldn’t stop being Hillary Clinton—a student of logic, a slave to facts and reason. “We wouldn’t’ve known each other,” Hillary admitted. “The laws wouldn’t’ve been different, and no matter how amazing it would’ve been, having children together would’ve put is in more danger than we could’ve imagined.”

They stopped walking.

“I love you, Petunia,” Hillary said, holding the woman’s cheeks. “Now.”

Nancy closed her eyes, weaving her fingers with Hillary’s.

***

When they got back to the cabin, Nancy grabbed a book and lounged on the patio while Hillary watched her from inside. Could anyone understand the connection they had? How beautiful and freeing and perfect it was? That familiar panic swept through her, and she wondered if someone leaked where they were. She frantically searched through Twitter, scouring any reference to “Hillary and Nancy” that she could find. Outside of MAGAts spewing their usual insults, she found nothing about Westgate and felt relieved. She did, however, see that she missed Bill’s call. She watched Nancy flip a page before heading to the upstairs loft.

“Bill?” Hillary said, pressing the “speaker” button as she sat at the desk. Although she needed Nancy, she needed him too.

“Hill,” he said, voice tender.

There was silence.

“You doing okay?” she asked, raising her tone. She didn’t want to sound too happy, because she didn’t want to make him sad.

“I’m alright. Still in Florida.”

“How’s the weather,” she causally asked.

“It’s rained for two days. Cloudy now, though. I’m gonna hit the links.”

“Great,” she said, imagining him in his Clinton Foundation golf shirt.

“How’s California?”

“Sunny,” she said, staring at the well-lit rafters.

He cleared his throat. “And Nancy?”

Hillary paused, everything suddenly feeling weighty. “She’s good.”

Neither wanted to broach the subject, but Bill couldn’t stop himself from— “Is she making you happy?”

“Honey…”

“Tell me,” he said. “Let me know that— Hillary, I need to know if—”

“Billy,” she said before saying nothing. As the silence lingered, she swallowed and decided to level with him. “It’s been wonderful.”

He squeezed his eyes closed.

“But that doesn’t change things between you and me.”

“I never…” He pulled the phone from his ear to compose himself. “I never thought it would, Hillary.”

“I’m not saying it will.”

“But you did,” he said. “You _just_ did.”

“Honey, please don’t do this.”

Nancy knocked on the wall to announce her presence, not realizing Hillary was on the phone.

“Billy,” Hillary continued, not seeing Nancy. “Honey…”

“I love you,” Bill said. “I love you more than…” He wiped his eyes, heartbroken. “You’re the love of my life.”

Hillary looked up, “Petunia...”

“I’ll come back,” Nancy whispered, heading out of the room.

“Hill?” Bill said.

“Hold on, honey.” She took the phone off speaker and headed to Nancy.

“Talk to him,” Nancy whispered, still leaving. She shut the door behind her, and Hillary sighed, putting the phone to her ear.

“I love you, Bill. I always have, and I always will.”

“But I can’t be her,” he stammered. “I won’t ever be all you need, Hillary.”

She closed her eyes, mind still and resolute. “That doesn’t change us,” she finally said. “Don’t you believe that?”

He did, but that didn’t assuage his fear. With eyes closed, he leaned against the wall, years of his own indiscretions playing on a loop in his mind. “I do.”

***

Hillary found Nancy on the couch eating ice cream, her face the picture of pleasure.

“This is so good, Steady,” she said, holding up the container. “Tell Nick I send my thanks.”

“You know I won’t,” Hillary said, sitting next to the woman and cuddling close. She loved being close. It comfortable and exciting and sexy. God, how sexy.

“Want some?”

“Oh no,” Hillary said. “I’ve been good until that carbonara.”

“You loved it.”

“It was _fantastic_.”

“Oh?”

Hillary nodded, hand on the small of Nancy’s waist, feeling the warmth of her skin. “But not as fantastic as you.”

Nancy took a slow lick of the cream, the dessert melting across her tongue. “Oh?”

Hillary inhaled, eyes focused as she got off the couch and onto her knees.

“Steady…”

“Petunia,” Hillary whispered, spreading the Speaker’s thighs in the most exhilarating way.

There was no spotlight. No cameras. No witnesses besides the rug and the chairs and the unlit fireplace. There was just them, and that was more than enough.

Nancy set the carton down, barely holding herself together, hardly breathing and unable to help herself. She squirmed which she always did when Hillary’s ministrations reached their pinnacle. And even still, she pulled the Secretary’s head to her center, desperate for more pressure. Her small hand gripped Hillary’s blond strands, running her fingers through them at times, needing, wanting, demanding more but unsure if she could take it until Hillary’s tongue pressed against that little part that made Nancy scream out her name. And her tongue stayed there for what seemed like an eternity. Nancy was convinced she would die from the pleasure until she finally let go, coming like the pouring rain, her essence drenching the Secretary’s face and nourishing the forest of their love.

It was quite the sight.


	7. Chapter 7

As far as she could remember, Hillary hadn’t slept so well since the day she retired from the State Department. She slept in that morning, cuddled to Bill’s gleeful chest. He was thrilled that she was home and looked forward to restarting their life together. But then she got that itch she’d had in 2007—that desire to fulfill her destiny. It was shocking to experience that again in Nancy’s arms, and the familiarity wasn’t lost on her. While Nancy was incredibly different from Bill, she knew how to bring Hillary home again.

“Oh _no_ ,” Nancy mumbled, seeing the sunlight piercing through the blinds. She didn’t want their time at Westgate to end. “It’s too soon,” she whispered, pulling the covers over her head. Seeing the invitation, Hillary did the same, and the two stared at each other under the sheets like little girls. Nancy could see Hillary clearly, loving how lush she looked first thing in the morning. Hillary struggled to see Nancy, but her memories overrode her bad vision as her fingers gently grazed the woman’s skin. And they stayed there, just like that, for nearly ten minutes before the sun peered through the fabric to remind them that, although powerful, they couldn’t suspend time.

“Eggs?” Nancy asked, cracking them before Hillary could answer. It wasn’t lost on the Secretary that Bill always did the same. “Eggs are full of protein and vitamins.”

“Selenium,” Hillary said.

“That,” Nancy continued. “And healthy fat.”

“That remains to be seen,” Hillary said.

Nancy turned on the stove and said, “There’s nothing wrong with a little fat, Steady. Who wouldn’t want to taste something rich?”

Hillary covered her face, embarrassed.

“And you know what I mean.”

“Nancy…”

Hillary watched her the same way she’d watch Bill. Then she felt she was thinking about Bill too much and snapped out of it when Nancy brought her a plate. “Grace?” Nancy asked. The women bowed their heads in unison, holding hands as they blessed the food.

***

 _One last walk_ , they convinced themselves. _One last walk_ before they headed back to reality where the names Hillary and Nancy would only mean the _idea_ of them. Stand-ins for “liberal” and “feminist.” Synonyms for “hatred” and “horror.”

“I’m taking an early flight to San Francisco before heading back to Washington,” Nancy admitted. “Paul’s been a little…” She smiled, hiding her pain. “You know how it is.”

Hillary nodded, knowing too well.

“He doesn’t…. He couldn’t bear to know it, Steady.”

Hillary took a deep breath, startled by the realization that she, like so many of Bill’s dalliances, was the ‘other woman’.

“He thinks I’m clearing my head for impeachment, but as my grandmother always said, “Non tutte le ciambelle riescono col buco.”

Hillary stopped in her tracks and furrowed her brow, bursts of sunlight spreading across her skin.

“Not all truths,” Nancy said, tears streaming down her face as she held Hillary’s cheeks, “are proper to be told.”

Hillary wiped away her lover’s tears, letting them permeate her fingertips. She kissed Nancy’s lips then her eyes then her cheeks, and she felt that pain of separation that she always pushed away whenever they had to leave Westgate. So she cried too, and their tears mingled on soft skin and soft palms, across bare cheeks and bare lips. It was the merging of separate salts and lipids, mucins and proteins—the mourning of hearts and the rending of souls.

It was tragic.

***

Hillary waited for Nick to arrive as she sat alone in the cabin. The whole place felt different without Nancy there, and Hillary felt different too. If asked to describe it, she’d say there was a piece of her where only Nancy fit—an ache of longing that would never wane. So she walked around the house to keep the ache at bay. When she entered the loft, she found a wrapped box sitting on the mattress. With furrowed brow, she picked up the attached card and opened the envelope.

_Steady,_

_I couldn’t stop thinking about you in it. You have my heart._

_I love you, Petunia_

In the box was a leather book of United States presidents. Hillary was on the cover.

***

When Hillary returned to Chappaqua, she was still wearing shades at nightfall. Huma didn’t ask any questions when she picked her up at the airport, because she knew the shades were there for a reason. She did, however, offer Hillary some Goldfish for the drive home. The older woman was thankful for the gesture and ate the tiny crackers one at a time.

Although ruminating, Hillary didn’t ask herself how to explain. Explanations weren’t necessary, but she felt like she needed to. Like there was something to confess. Like she should visit a priest or sit on the stand or whatever else she could do to rid herself from the guilt.

“I love you,” Bill whispered, holding her tight as they stood in the foyer, Hillary still wearing her coat. “I love you so much.”

Hillary squeezed her eyes closed, memories of Nancy’s touch still permeating her mind. “I love you too,” she whispered, the redwoods and pasta and ice cream and kisses and magic circling around her in a whirlwind, nearly rapturing her in the stillness. “I love you,” she whispered again, meaning it for both but saying it, secretly, for Nancy.


	8. Chapter 8

“Epilogue”

_January 20, 2021_

She could barely put on her lipstick, her shaky hand filled with excitement. Paul stood behind her with his large hands resting on her tiny shoulders.

“A hundred and one years later,” he said, watching his wife fix her hair. Nancy was more nervous than she’d ever been, and that included becoming a mother, grandmother, and Speaker many times over. “I’m sure Hillary’ll do just fine.”

“Of course, she will,” Nancy said, having Paul fasten her pearl necklace. “She’s been waiting for this moment for years. She doesn’t have time for nerves.”

“But you do,” he said, looking away because he never wanted her to know that he knew.

But he did.

He’d seen the side glances and the Westgate receipts. He’d seen her crying after late night phone calls and excited whenever they’d be in the same place. “I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

Nancy was stunned, but instead of showing her hand, she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Paul. We’re going to be late.”

And he nodded, staring at her in the mirror, silent as ever, because if she didn’t want to talk about it, he’d hold it in forever.

***

Bill thought it would feel odd to not follow the Carters to the dais, but he was more than thankful to walk out with Hillary as the First Gentleman. It was a day he’d prepared for since 2008, imagining the inauguration going the way it should have gone many times before—with her taking the helm. As they stood in the Capitol Rotunda waiting to be announced, they held hands, small smiles on their lips.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “So, so proud.”

Hillary couldn’t contain her joy, her big, bright eyes filling with tears.

“You’re gonna do a great speech, Hill. It’ll really bring the country back together.”

She hoped it would, but she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t say anything. All she could do was squeeze her husband’s hand as her daughter and son-in-law trailed them to the entrance. Her dream finally, after so many years, coming to fruition.

***

The 2017 Inaugural Luncheon was harsh. Hillary had drank too much wine, and Nancy held her hand under the table the entire time, trying to comfort her in the best way she publically could. But this time, Hillary sat at the head table with Bill by her side. Nancy was on his other, and Hillary saw him whispering to the Speaker. She didn’t know what they were saying, so she lifted her soup spoon, trying her best to keep a neutral face. Bill suddenly stood, as did Nancy, and the two switched seats.

“Bill?” Hillary asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead, Nancy sat down and whispered, “I’m so proud of you, Steady.”

Hillary was flush, everyone on earth seeing her next to her lover. Could they figure it out? She desperately wanted to squeeze her. “Petunia…”

Nancy grabbed her hand under the table, a smile plastered on her face for the cameras. “They don’t know anything,” she whispered. “Just that the President and the Speaker are having a friendly chat for about three minutes at the head table.” Nancy held Hillary’s thumb in her palm and gently caressed the digit the way she wanted to caress her. “Steady?”

“Hmm?”

“This would work better if you said something.”

Hillary was at a loss for words, entranced by Nancy’s touch.

“Ask me how I feel about the inauguration.”

Hillary inhaled, fighting the urge to kiss the Speaker before everyone. “Did you like the inauguration?”

“Oh, I loved it,” Nancy said, still caressing her hand. “You know what my favorite part was?” she asked as every news station snapped pictures of the two, oblivious to the conversation.

“What was your favorite part?” Hillary whispered.

Nancy leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Seeing you from behind. I cannot _wait_ until next year’s State of the Union.”

Hillary licked her lips, nodding as she usually did.

“You have to smile,” Nancy said, seeing Hillary squeezing her thighs together. “We’re being friendly.”

“I couldn’t’ve done it without you, Pet,” she said, smiling for the cameras as her heart nearly burst inside of her. “I love you.”

Nancy took a staggered breath, nearly breaking in front of everyone. “I love you more.”

Bill finished his short conversation with Paul and stood to switch seats with Nancy again. “Madam Speaker,” he drawled.

“Mr. President,” she said.

Hillary exhaled.

“Madam President,” Bill said, kissing his wife’s cheek. He wanted her to have everything. So he grabbed Hillary and Nancy’s hands and connected them across his lap. They didn’t disconnect until they had to, but even when they did, their collective touch lingered on their fingers, reminding them, forever, of the redwoods.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Power of the Speaker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375246) by [YIMA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIMA/pseuds/YIMA)
  * [Pride](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837546) by [YIMA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIMA/pseuds/YIMA)
  * [The Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220496) by [YIMA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIMA/pseuds/YIMA)
  * [The Mrs.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468408) by [YIMA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIMA/pseuds/YIMA)
  * [Texts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21560434) by [YIMA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIMA/pseuds/YIMA)
  * [The Promise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855202) by [YIMA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIMA/pseuds/YIMA)




End file.
